


Abhinav

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:58:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: As long as anyone can remember, Kuntala and Family has welcomed intellectuals, artists, and anyone who wants a cup of the finest filter coffee to be found in the city. Devasena won't let anything get in the way of that: not the shop's growing failure to turn a profit, not the growing pressure from Mahishmati Enterprises to sell out, and certainly not her growing feelings for a ridiculous new hire who won't stop sending longing looks her way.





	Abhinav

**Author's Note:**

> abhinav=(Sanskrit) modern.

As long as anyone can remember, Kuntala and Sons has welcomed intellectuals, artists, and anyone who wants a cup of the finest filter coffee to be found in the city. A jewel of India, to hear its patrons describe it, dating back to the days when assembling in coffee houses and rebelling against the Raj went hand in hand. The Constitution might well have been drafted on one of its teak tables, if only the Constituent Assembly hadn’t had the perversity to be held in another city entirely. Best of all, it has scarcely changed since first opening its doors, not since Jay Varma renamed the place Kuntala and Family upon inheriting ownership fifteen years previous. 

As long as she can remember, Devasena has known all this. It does not make her want to pull out her hair any less during staff meetings. 

“Akhila,” she says for what must be the thousandth time, “perhaps you could stop harassing customers into ordering more than they intended to?”

Her friend—but, right now, her employee—tosses her head. “Who wants to sit and drink coffee without a samosa or two? Besides, a bit of sweet-talking never hurt anyone.”

“Every single one of the complaints described it as _bullying,_ ” Devasena says firmly. “No more. In other news, Madhav just gave me a copy of the accounts for the last three months, and contrary to what you might have heard, we did turn a profit—“ Barely, by the skin of their teeth, and for the last time, if Madhav’s projections were correct, as they usually were “—but that does not mean we should reduce our efforts to improve. _Anni,_ any progress with the new pastries?”

Sumitra, cheek already dusted with flour, bites her lip. “I think the sweet buns have come out well. But I don’t know if the new recipe for rusks is quite ready yet.”

“As soon as you can, then. And the marketing consultant?" She turns to her brother.

"Still thinks we need to invest in more hoardings," says Jay, frowning contemplatively. "Five at least, but the more, the better."

Devasena bites her lip. The clientele Kuntala and Family means to attract --has the best chance of attracting, if she's honest with herself--are more likely to pay attention for the advertisements they find in their newspapers instead of along the road, but who is she to argue with a professional? Instinct argues with caution; instinct, as always, wins. "She can have two. Three if they do bring in more customers." That, she calculates, will still leave enough funds for a full page in the _Times._ "And that," she checks her clipboard once again, "is everything for this morning. Thank you for your attention."

With only a minimum of grumbling, everyone disperses to their jobs to go about preparing the shop to open for the morning. Devasena would join them, except a glimmer of white on the counter catches her attention. It's a sheet of paper, crumpled; when she unfolds it, Devasena finds the Sethi model written out in an unfamiliar hand, calculating different possibilities the effect of advertising on overall sales. 

She considers. Only two people had been sitting, or leaning, by that particular section of the counter. One was Kumar Varma, but the chances of Kumar actually remembering the Sethi model from business school, much less remembering how and when to apply it, are slim to none. Devasena herself remembers it mostly due to the business school final exams that loom at the end of the month. Which only leaves:

*

(“Baahu,” said Devasena, folding her hands before her on the table. “I distinctly remember hearing your uncle call you ‘Baahu.’”

The man before her blinked. “Yes,” he said, somewhat less intelligently than she would have expected. “But my name is definitely Shivu.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, unimpressed.

“It’s a nickname,” he explained, following a rather obvious burst of inspiration. “Baahu. People who love me call me that.” He brightened. "You're welcome to do so."

Devasena prayed for composure. "I really only need to know what name to put on the employment contract." She rubbed her temples. "Only--promise me you're not a fugitive from justice or a, a spy, or anything else that will land us in trouble. We truly cannot afford any at the moment." 

His eyes were warm as he looked at her. "I'm just what Uncle said," he told her. "Fired from my last job and banished by my mother until I can prove my responsibility. And more grateful to you for your kindness than I can say."

His hand moved towards hers for an instant before stopping just in time; her fingers tingled nonetheless. Horrified, Devasena signed her name at the bottom of the contract before hastily pushing it across the table. "Well, then," voice crisp as always, "welcome to Kuntala and Family.")

* 

Apparently Call-Me-Baahu leaves a lot to be desired as an employee, at least if one asks Kumar Varma.

"Daydreaming," he grumbles."Always daydreaming! Staring off into the distance more often than not."

Devasena thinks this rather unfair, given the number of times Kumar has burned the milk he was boiling while distracted by the thoughts of his supposed culinary prowess, but before she can point this out, Kumar offers her a cup of coffee so saturated with cream that it is an unappetizing shade of beige. Devasena demurs. 

"Yesterday I had to call Shivu's name for five whole minutes before he answered," Akhila chimes in, picking up a new tray. "And it's not the first time, either. He always looks so surprised when he turns around."

"He's never been particularly short of attention that I've seen," says Devasena, disappointed. If she caught him unawares more often, it might be easier to untangle the contradictions he presents.

"Oh, Devasena," sighs Akhila, sharing a look of exaggerated pity with Kumar Varma. 

Honestly, Devasena hasn't the faintest idea what that pity is all about: if it's about the fact that their newest employee is attracted to her, well, she can hardly remain unaware of that, any more than she can ignore the laughter in his eyes or the cleverness of his hands or the breadth of his shoulders. But what that doesn't change is the need for professionalism and composure and a number of other virtues that seem essential when she's falling asleep at night but far more difficult to apply during the day.

"Have a word with him yourself, Kumar, if it bothers you so much," she advises, and makes her escape. 

*

When the message comes from Mahishmati Enterprises, she doesn't know what to think. 

Sivagami Devi--of course she knows the name. Half of the case studies she's reviewed in school center around the woman. And Mahishmati Enterprises deals with virtually every industry there is; little surprise that coffeeshops are included in their portfolio. A life in partnership with them would mean benefiting from the incredible resources they possess, the investors who would support any business Sivagami told them to, the wealth incurred by years of experience.

Still. Something feels wrong when she thinks of the fate of Kuntala and Family in another's hands. To obey someone else's dictates about the shop, even if it came from such a prestigious source: it is unthinkable, as ashamed as she is to admit it. 

It's only a brief meeting, though, with the grand lady herself, to discuss the proposal. It can hardly hurt to hear her out. 

Devasena replies with an agreement before she can change her mind. Her stomach twists with nerves already. She hopes she hasn't made the mistake of her life.

*

What Definitely-Shivu lacks in attention, he makes up for charm. Within days, he's the clear favorite of most of the customers. He's shameless about it, too. Devasena overhears him telling Giridhar Uncle, who's passionate about politics, a sob story about being a poor Sri Lankan emigrant looking for his long-lost mother; to Naresh Sir, from Hyderabad for the past six generations and proud of it, he's a fellow transplant who's fulfilling a childhood promise to his sweetheart so outrageous as to be unbelievable; to Radhika Ma'am, who's lived in the city since birth but is still happy to lecture any unwary souls on the benefits of village life, he's cast out from an idyllic existence among his rural family for fighting with a rival clan. 

"I just don't see how many variations of 'poor, lonely orphan' are possible," Devasena complains later in the kitchens. "At some point, he's bound to run out." If she expects sympathy, she finds none. Sumitra is frying _pakoras_ and irritable because of it. 

"Oh, Devasena, as though it weren't obvious," she says, and there's that note of _pity_ again. Before Devasena can reply, Jay, come to visit his wife, cuts in.

"You should have seen her when we were young," he says, quite unfairly. "She'd have given away all her pocket money before we were halfway to the sweetshop." 

They both look at Devasena as one, who suddenly feels the need to defend herself. "It was ten o'clock, they were the last customers there, and I had two chapters left to revise! He and his uncle had been sitting there all afternoon, too; if I hadn't offered him a job, he probably still would be sitting there --it wasn't as though he had anywhere else to go."

"So you see why Mother started putting me in charge of both our pocket money after some time," Jay tells Sumitra pleasantly. 

Devasena throws a pastry at him, and only feels a little smug when it hits him in the exact middle of his forehead. 

*

She does her research in the days leading up to her meeting with Sivagami. The woman has been both CEO and majority stockholder for Mahishmati Enterprises for the past twenty-five years, in large part because of the shares her brother-in-law willed her before his premature death. She's notoriously ruthless in her professional life; more than one company has gone up against her and had to declare bankruptcy by the end of it. Devasena doesn't have to think back to her seminars to remember the accusations of espionage, intimidation, and a general lack of ethics. 

But say what you will about Sivagami Devi's career, there's no denying that her personal life is above reproach. Rumors agree that she is a devoted mother, dedicated to raising her sons away from the public eye and succeeding so well there aren't even any photographs of them to be found for love or money. Rumors of an even more uncertain nature claim she is tiring of her responsibilities and plans to turn over the company to one of her sons by the end of the year.

That's a new complication to consider. But no, the invitation had specifically mentioned that she would be meeting with Sivagami herself. Best to keep her focus there instead of becoming distracted. 

Reviewing the fate of the last business Mahishmati Enterprises had acquired gives her pause. The CEO and previous owner of the Kalakeya Corporation had been destroyed entirely, his assets shattered by an airtight lawsuit that left him helpless and unable to seek out any future employment. But the low-level workers had been spared: their jobs preserved, their salaries kept and often increased, their benefits maintained despite the change in ownership. Surely that means that _someone_ at Mahishmati Enterprises has some rudimentary concept of mercy and kindness. 

Surely that means Kuntala and Family might be safe in their hands. 

*

"I wonder if you could help me study, Kumar," Devasena says in the sweetest tone she can muster, approaching with textbook in hand. 

"Of course!" Kumar straightens. "Any questions you have, Devasena, feel free to ask. We'll make a class topper out of you yet, just as I was back in the day!"

Devasena, who checked Kumar Varma's scores for him back when he was in business school and so remembers exactly how far from being a class topper he had been, wisely holds her tongue and opens her book to the list of questions she's prepared. 

"I don't suppose you remember anything about the IS-LM model?"

Kumar blinks. "The IS-LM....?" There is a cough from the counter, where Devasena is pointedly not looking, and Kumar clears his throat and says: "Ah, yes, the IS-LM model. Interest rates and assets market. Of course."

And so it goes, question followed by confusion followed by cough followed by halting answer, at least until the twenty-seventh repetition of the cycle, which, Devasena can only assume, is when her newest and most exasperating employee recognizes that she's been reading off an old question paper for the K.K. Varaha Prize, the oldest and most difficult examination offered by the state.

He stumbles, she smiles, and all in all, she feels quite satisfied with herself until she realizes that in his surprise, he's managed to spill half a cup of scalding hot coffee on his hand. 

*

It's not even a very bad burn. Devasena didn't think so at the time, but now that the doctor has looked it over and agreed, she is sure of it. Now, riding back in the auto, she says, so stiffly that even she is conscious of it:

"I hope you don't read too much into the fact that I let the nurse assume that you and I were, ah, together."

"Never," murmurs Call-Me-Baahu obediently.

"It seemed easier. So they'd give me information without having to fill out release forms first."

"Of course."

"Are you going to agree with _everything_ that I say?"

"No fear of that," he assures her with a smile. "I know my mind as well as you do yours. We happen to agree most of the time, that's all."

She wishes she could disagree. "If we're so similar, then, you should already know that this is quite impossible."

"It is?"

"Yes! There's such a thing as professionalism, as ethical behavior--"

"A well-educated person as yourself would surely know more about such things than I," he starts to say humbly. 

"Oh, don't," she snaps back. "This is exactly what I mean. I can hardly do my job if I want to laugh every time you say something ridiculous. Which, at last count, was every few minutes."

"I'll try my best to do better," replies Baahu, so meekly that his gentle mockery is obvious, and, when they return and he's more outrageous than ever, she knows she has no one to blame but herself.

*

Janmashtami comes, and with it, Kuntala and Family’s tradition of staying open late. The city’s largest temple can be found only a block away, and many patrons choose to indulge in a cup of coffee after the midnight festivities before returning home. Devasena volunteers to stay this year. Her exams are now only two weeks away, and as she knows sleep will elude her anyway, she might as well spend her time in service to the shop. Besides, as she reminds Sumitra, it is hardly as though she will be alone. 

“It is very kind of Shivu to offer to stay along with you,” says Sumitra, biting her lip, “but is it really safe…?” 

She trails off, apparently remembering what had happened the last time anyone had threatened violence in the shop when Devasena had been present. Six years had passed, but no one had ever dared repeat that particular performance again. 

“I’ll pray for your results,” Sumitra offers as a compromise as she’s walking out the door at last, _puja thali_ in hand. 

“Don’t mind that,” Devasena calls after her. “Pray for better business for the shop instead!” 

By eleven o’clock, most of the other customers leave for the night. Devasena, greedy for any time to study, sits at the counter and revises her notes on Business Law until her vision blurs. It’s not until she realizes she’s read the same sentence three times into a row that she looks up to discover a steaming cup of—“Tea!” 

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Baahu tells her, almost apologetically. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Devasena says, taking a grateful sip. “My reputation would never recover. But I’ve never liked the taste of coffee, even when I was a girl, and spending all my summers and holidays surrounded by the stuff hardly helped matters.” 

“I can imagine,” murmurs Baahu. The silence between them grows comfortable again when he asks: “Is it necessary to go to business school to run a coffee shop?” There is curiosity rather than accusation in his voice; she takes none of the offense she would ordinarily. 

“Not really,” she has to admit. “Kumar went first—and I helped him, as you must know. And—it came so easily to me.” Her voice turns wistful. “There was so much more to learn about than our little shop, and I wanted to know all of it.” 

Baahu’s expression is sympathetic. “Devasena—“ he begins when they’re interrupted by the first of the midnight customers. By the time the last of them have been assisted, they are both so tired that they can only manage to clean off the tables and lock up the shop in silence. 

“Thank you for your help,” Devasena says at the door in her most professional tones. “You can, of course, expect tomorrow off—“ 

Baahu ignores this, apparently instead intent on walking her home. 

“You heard my sister-in-law,” Devasena reminds him. “I’m quite familiar with the way home. You don’t need to be concerned for my safety.” 

“I know,” he says, and perhaps it’s a trick of the moonlight, but his cheeks are ever-so-slightly red, “but I would like to, nevertheless.” 

There are a thousand reasons she should refuse. There is only one to explain why she says yes. 

"Besides," Baahu assures her, "it's on my way." 

*

She arrives early for her meeting with Sivagami Devi. The intent behind its location at one of Mahishmati Enterprises' existing cafes is to allow Devasena to see for herself what Kuntala and Family might become someday. Her first thought is to acknowledge that they're certainly not in need of business; a line of customers stretches from the counter to the door, and even more mill around, waiting to pick up their orders from a second counter. 

Practical of them, not to waste money on waiters. But the chairs are uncomfortable, and the tables small; none of the customers linger to talk and chat as they do at Kuntala and Family, instead leaving almost as soon as their cups are handed over. Flashy and well-maintained though it is, there is no life, no warmth to be found here. Try as she might, she can't see the shop her parents loved so well becoming... _this._

Devasena is toying with the idea of leaving and pretending she'd mistaken the date, when the door opens and a man in an ill-fitting but expensive suit stumbles in. His name is Amartya, he explains, and he is well aware that he is somewhat later than expected, but naturally Mahishmati Enterprises has other, more important business to attend to. Didn't she know she was welcome to order whatever she pleased? All complimentary, of course. 

"I was under the belief I'd be meeting with Sivagami Devi herself," Devasena says icily, and the man laughs incredulously.

"Forgive me," he says, not sounding apologetic in the least, "but surely you didn't think Sivagami had time to waste on acquiring a company as small as yours? One of her sons--well, that you might expect, but the elder is busy with his legal practice and has no patience for petty tasks such as this, and the younger is still on holiday, as his mother prescribed. Now, let's get started, if you please. I've five more meetings to attend today, and this is only the first of them."

Devasena grits her teeth but sits down across from him. The figures he quotes as compensation are so low as to be insulting; the amount of control he means to allow them in their own shop's future is next to none. "And of course we will need to take some additional funds from those allocated to bring your establishment up to a certain standard of - ahem!- modernity that our customers expect. I don't expect that it should take more than a few thous--Yes?"

She lowers the hand she raised to stop him. Her voice wants to tremble; she refuses to show even so small a sign of weakness. "I think I've heard quite enough," she manages. "Please inform Sivagami Devi that we've reconsidered--that is, if she can take the time from her busy schedule to hear it."

Amartya gapes. "Surely you don't think you'll ever receive a better offer than this? Think of what you're giving up." 

"No offer is worth allowing Kuntala and Family become what you have here!" Devasena snaps. "I would rather watch it decay than become a soulless establishment like the one you've created here--though I doubt Sivagami has enough of a heart left to tell the difference!"

Only years of clinging to her dignity keep her from slamming the door behind her as she storms out.

* 

In years to come, fungologists will name the coffee blight _Cercespora pindari_. At the time, Devasena can think of nothing else to call it but an unmitigated disaster.

The morning starts off with such promise. Only the day before, she had left the exam hall alight in the knowledge that she'd almost certainly passed, only to find Baahu waiting for her just outside. It was on his way, of course, just as walking her home whenever their shifts coincide is always "on his way." Devasena is certain that she's being skillfully and subtly courted, but who is she to dictate how he spends his time outside of work? So it's even more a shock to enter the shop and find identical expressions of dismay on the faces of all her employees. 

"What's wrong?" she asks, dreading the answer already, and Kumar is the only one who dares to reply, his voice doleful. 

"The new shipment of coffee beans--here, see for yourself." He places a handful of beans in her hand. At first they seem unremarkable, but they crumble too easily at the slightest touch, releasing a dank, sour odor she already knows will make them undrinkable. "They're all like that," he goes on. "The suppliers say the blight doesn't become apparent until the beans are processed and sent." 

Devasena opens her mouth, but Kumar shakes his head, knowing what she'll ask. "There's no more to be found anywhere in the city. I've called everywhere." 

"How long before they can import more?" 

"Three weeks at least," answers Jay, and Devasena's heart sinks. Three weeks' loss of revenue is a blow they won't be able to recover from--and that's not even taking into account how their suppliers will be forced to increase the price they charge for their beans afterwards. 

She's careful to keep the despair out of her voice when she speaks. "There's still tea to offer," she points out. "Not to mention the pastries. Our regular customers will understand." But without coffee to offer, what hope do they have of attracting new ones? "I intend to still open in fifteen minutes," she tells everyone, head held high, "so there's no use in standing around."

*

Baahu comes to her that night. "You're not giving up," he says. It is not a question, but she shakes her head regardless. 

"I don't know how," she confesses. "I never learned." As long as she can remember, she's only ever known to fight: surrender is unthinkable. Compromise is impossible. Kuntala and Family will be ruined, and Devasena will have to watch it occur because she is too stubborn to admit defeat. 

It is hardly a virtue, but Baahu's gaze is still proud when he looks at her. "In that case," he says, "I have a few ideas...." 

* 

Over the next three weeks, they all work as they have never worked before: smooth, efficient, and self-assured. Sumitra’s pastries are sublime, Kumar Varma far more talented with tea than he ever was with coffee, and Akhila’s sharp tongue rather better suited to lure reluctant customers inside than it was behind the counter. Devasena can sense Baahu’s quiet influence behind it all, reinforcing her orders, cheering up the most listless, bringing the best out of everyone around him. 

However: “It’s still not enough,” Jay points out. “Enough to buy us a week or two more, but then—“ 

“Then we’ll see,” Devasena says as calmly as she can manage. 

On the few days and hours she can spare from the shop, Baahu accompanies her on her secret, desperate project. She is, if possible, even more grateful for his presence then. His charm abets her confidence; her determination is matched only by his decisiveness. His voice fills her silences, and vice versa: together, she dares dream, they are unstoppable. 

Giridhar Uncle answers on the second knock. Devasena offers him her very best smile. 

“You wouldn’t be interested in signing a petition, would you, Uncle?” 

* 

“A thousand signatures,” Jay repeats, in some awe. 

“A thousand and fifty,” Devasena corrects. “But a thousand were all we needed. Kuntala and Family is now a National Historic Site and therefore protected from demolition. There’s a government grant, too; that should be arriving in the mail in a few days.” 

”A grant, too,” says Jay, wide-eyed. “Devasena, this—this—“ 

”You might thank Giridhar Uncle, who called most of his friends in the government to push it through,” Devasena admits. “But mostly Baa—er, Shivu. It was his idea.” 

Kumar Varma is the first one to start laughing, more out of relief than anything else; but the joy, it seems, is contagious. Under cover of the commotion, Devasena pulls Baahu closer. 

”May I take you to dinner tonight?” she ventures. “To celebrate?” 

He smiles down at her. “Is that strictly professional?” 

”I could always fire you until the morning, if you prefer,” she offers, and though he raises his eyebrows, it’s still less forward than her first thought had been: Kuntala and Family has always been in the family, after all, and she sees no reason why that must change. 

A shrill whistle sounds; it takes longer than it should for Devasena to realize it’s the sound of Baahu’s mobile. He blinks, not a little startled himself. 

She smiles. “Take your call,” she tells him. “We can wait.” 

The exhilaration around her has by no means faded. Kumar Varma spins Akhila around until she steps on his foot intentionally to stop him; Jay forgets himself enough to kiss Sumitra on the cheek in public. More than one of the junior waiters is suspiciously bright-eyed. Devasena can’t remember the last time she saw any of them so happy. She can’t remember the last time _she_ was so happy. 

Which is, of course, precisely when Baahu returns.

**Author's Note:**

> As awful a cliffhanger as that is, I hope it's at least somewhat mitigated by the fact that we've all presumably watched the film and know where this is going? (Yes, there will be a continuation, I promise, albeit less scheduled than Nidhana: writing a silly modern AU on and off has been entirely too much fun not to do otherwise.) Special thanks go to saamragini and parlegee/weaslayyy, for encouragement and plot ideas. Other notes:
> 
> * Kuntala and Family is based very, very roughly on the old-fashioned sit-down Indian Coffee Houses, at least in comparison to Mahishmati's more westernized equivalent to Cafe Coffee Day and the like. As someone who shares Devasena's aversion for coffee, any mistakes about coffee/coffeeshops are entirely my own. 
> 
> * _Anni_ =(Tamil) sister-in-law; the equivalent of the Telugu _vadina_ or the Hindi _bhabhi_
> 
> *The Sethi Model is a real thing, as is the IS-LM Model! However, my knowledge of business theory is so, so lacking that invoking it here is probably roughly equivalent to hearing about " _Little Women_ , that great work of poetry by the dramatist Jane Austen," would be for me. To those more knowledgeable about business and therefore wincing, I beg your pardon!
> 
> *In canon, I still feel like the "Baahu" nickname is reserved solely for family members. However, in a modern setting, using the "stranger" trick seemed impossible; and the name Amarendra is rare enough that it would be ridiculous to use as an alias.
> 
> *Baahu's made up backstories are, naturally, lifted directly from previous Prabhas movies: in order, _Chatrapathi, Bujjigadu,_ and _Mirchi_.
> 
> *In the films, Devasena refers to the ambassador from Mahishmati as _Amatya,_ or literally "minister" in Sanskrit. I could resist the pun of naming him Ama **r** tya, an actual given name here.


End file.
